


Reborn

by loudle



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Artist Louis, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Bottom Harry, Dark, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drugs, Heroin, M/M, Metaphors, Sad, Sad Harry, Sad Louis, Top Louis, Twisted, full of fucked up metaphors, heroin is personified to the point where she can almost be considered a main character, it's fucked up at best, just sad all around, like REALLY toxic, metaphors 4 dayzzzz, tbh, their relationship is really toxic, this is how my mind works i apologize if my metaphors confuse you, this is like reeeaaaaalllllyyyy twisted and dark, what is even going on here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 14:58:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5590564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loudle/pseuds/loudle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis paints a million universes and Harry is the Sun in every last one. They get so high that they can touch the stars and neither can remember what it feels like to fade with every breath. Everything is beautiful and they will never die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reborn

Harry was gold. He was painted in warmth and light, haze around the edges like a burst of stardust that never went away. When Louis was sober, Harry looked like an angel, but when he was high, the angel became God.  
Louis was gray. He was always gray.  
Louis was gray, a stagnant mixture of black and white. Gray was an oxymoron, being half the absence of color and half every color in the spectrum, and it was sad. Louis was sad and dull; that’s why he painted.  
Living in a world lacking in color granted him an undying thirst for vibrancy and youth, two things he lacked in when his head was on his shoulders rather than hidden behind a canvas. He used a paintbrush to create a million different worlds for himself to live in, each better than the next, all better than the one that held his sorry existence.  
All of his paintings centered around Harry. The universes he created began at his fingertip and ended at Harry’s like God bestowing life unto Adam.  
Harry was fragments of light breaking through a stained glass window painting rainbows onto the cracked pavement of Louis’s tearing skin, leaving inky teardrops into his wake that paint pictures into the worn flesh. A bird, an accident, a sigh of giving up. All love, so much love. Harry was like heroin.  
But there were bouts of time when Harry would break down. He would fall down into a deep pit of dark blue to cancel out his shine. It was during these times that Louis got mad- he didn’t understand why Harry did this to himself, because it was always him. The reason Harry would get sick and cry through sleepless nights, vomiting sessions and whimpers keeping the both of them up until they collapsed at dawn, was that he’d deny himself the high. He would see an article written by some sober fuck, read a sad story from someone who never knew the release, or hear a hushed whisper of disapproval from a person who doesn’t understand the sadness seeping from his body like tar from every pore. He needed the high, Louis needed him, and that was the dynamic. When Harry tried to disentangle himself from the hands of his sweet escape, more fists broke through walls than needles through skin and Louis painted in shades of gray. Gray was sad, his alternate universes were not supposed to be. He needed Harry to dance with the smoke that wrapped around his better judgment rather than hold his breath so that he could capture the passion in the sway of his hips when Lady Heroin twirled him around the room.  
Louis saw flecks of gold behind his eyes and knew that he had to paint. The color exploded behind his eyes like a beam of light blinding him, but Harry was limp on their worn mattress. He needed Harry to light up so that they could be a pair of headlights searching for dawn through the night.  
"Harry," Louis said but Harry did not answer his call. "Baby," he tried again and Harry hummed in acknowledgment. "Ve'got an idea," he said but Harry remained silent. "Shoot up with me, babe?" Harry sighed shallowly in reply, watching the sky cry and leave fat teardrops to crawl down the window. "Yeah?"  
"No," Harry said and Louis bit the inside of his cheek, knee bouncing impatiently from where he sat on the chair in the opposite corner of the room.  
"Please?" Louis pleaded but Harry ignored him. "Please, Harry."  
"Can't, Lou," Harry said softly, feeling a lot like the sky at this moment, all sad and watered-down. "Don't want it."  
"Yes you do," Louis corrected him.  
"No, I-"  
"You know that you do," Louis said, rising from his seat to sit on the edge of the mattress that lay without a frame on the hardwood floor and brushed Harry's unruly curls from his eyes. "You'll feel so much better, baby."  
"Won't," Harry mumbled, lashes fluttering closed under his lover's gentle touch.  
"Will," Louis insisted, climbing fully onto the bed and swinging his leg over Harry's hips so that he was straddling him. "Feel like a god," Louis promised him, leaning down and pressing a wet kiss to Harry's sweet mouth. He slipped his tongue past the other man's lips, swiping over his teeth and eliciting a shiver from his bony frame. Harry's mouth tasted like vomit and sadness. Louis wanted to fill it with gold. "Get high with me," he whispered into Harry's mouth.  
"Lou, please," Harry breathed before choking on a gasp as the man on top of him ground his hips into his. "Don't make me. Please."  
"Please," Louis pressed, trailing wet lips down to his throat, licking a stripe from his lips to the base of his neck to suck a bruise into the uncorrupted flesh. "Wanna paint you as an angel."  
"Louis," Harry moaned low in his throat at the feeling of teeth sinking into his gentle skin and a tongue swiping to soothe the surely purple mark.  
"I love you," Louis said, pressing soft kisses up his neck and along his jawline before ghosting over his swollen lips once again. "Love you forever."  
"I love you too," Harry replied, looking up at him with sad green eyes.  
"Let me paint you in Heaven," Louis pled one last time. Harry hesitated before responding.  
"Okay."  
"Yeah?," Louis's breath hitched in excitement and Harry's hitched in despair.  
"Yeah."  
Louis got up from the bed and rushed across the small room to their mostly empty chest of drawers. In the top drawer, Lady Heroin smiled at him, batting her eyelashes as if to say ' _I knew you'd be back_ '. He filled two syringes and came back to bed, lacing the fingers of his free hand through Harry's limp digits. "So good for me, baby," he purred as he straightened out Harry's arm and closed his smaller hand around the much larger one to create a fist. The blue vein protruded from the joint at Harry's elbow, and Louis noted that one could still see the evidence from the last time they had shot up together rising through the skin. In the most sickening way, Louis felt empowered, as if it was he that ran through Harry's bloodstream, keeping him high and leaving a reminder behind as to who kept him going. In moments like this, he became one with his mistress as she reached her hands of light inside of his boy so filled with darkness to pull him back in. He loved Harry, but he _loved_ Lady Heroin. He loved her so much that he had her coursing through him instead of blood, he made sweet love to her every time she entered his body through the point of contact between the needle and his skin. He loved Harry for jumping into the deep end when Louis just asked him to dip his toes, but he loved Lady Heroin for teaching his boy how to swim.  
Harry hissed as she entered his veins, seeping through his body with practiced ease. He always reacted to the way she slipped into a room, so beautiful and so effortless, the very definition of grace, as if it were the first time they've met. But Harry and Lady Heroin were quite acquainted, knew each other very well. She taught him warmth and painted glow-in-the dark stars on the dusty ceiling of their flat like the ones stuck above the bed in his childhood room. He wondered absently if his mum ever took them down as a dull ache filled the abysmal void where his heart used to be before passing time and unforgiving conditions eroded him from the inside out. He often felt like he was decomposing, waiting to cough up dirt and earthworms instead of vomit one of these days or find weeds breaking through his rotting skin. He was dying ever so slowly, but suddenly he was filled with lights- big Hollywood lights. Glitter flowed through his blood and painted the world bright gold. Louis thought that Harry was all the gold in the universe.  
"Y'feel it, babe?," Louis asked, chasing his own high. Harry hummed from where he lay, rolling over to face the man with dried paint on his ankle and a needle in his arm.  
"Beautiful," Harry said, eyes bright as he reached out to brush his calloused fingers along Louis's sharp jawline. "You're so beautiful."  
"M'not," Louis insisted, feeling the ground sweep from under his feet as Lady Heroin kissed him hello and allowed him to defy gravity. He was floating, a white cloud high above the dark gray, and he was okay. He escaped the pain it took to expand his lungs against his ribs. His chest was a prison, each rib like a bar in a cell that trapped his soul inside the tight confines of his body. The only one who could unlock the gates was her, but when she left, he hit the floor again, and he woke up in the jail cell of his skin and bones. She led his soul to the edge of the atmosphere where the air was thin and Louis was weightless. He felt nothing and everything and Harry was the sun. Everything was beautiful and no one ever died. When she was around, he forgot that he hated himself so deeply. He forgot that the world is a disgusting place filled with pain, like a festering wound filled with infection from going untreated. Once upon a time, he was a hopeful young man with hearts for eyes and an extra upon his sleeve. He believed that there was a solution to every problem, a cure for every ailment, and an answer to every question. However, he came to learn that the good die too young to make a difference and the bad are immortal. He doesn't know if he'll ever die, but he thinks that Harry will not be around for much longer by way of this principle. He forgets this, though, when his fair lady is on his arm as they dance circles around the ones who don't understand. He understands. He wonders if he always understood.  
"Are," Harry insists, pushing himself up slowly as his back pops from the movement. "Most beautiful angel in Heaven."  
"You're the angel," Louis says, removing the syringe from his joint and placing it on the floor beside the mattress. "Need to paint you."  
"Then you're God, yeah?," Harry says, crawling forward and off the mattress towards where Louis is crouched above the blank canvas. "Paint me? Create me? Seal my fate, yeah?"  
"Yeah, I suppose," Louis says, locking eyes with the naked boy still entangled with the white duvet. The blanket had seen better days, fraying at the edges and stained faintly from previous spills of what was probably blood. Sometimes vomit, mostly blood. Tears, vomit, and blood all pressed and faded into the old comforter as if to tell a story. Louis didn't want to hear that story right now, though. He wanted to write a new one on the unmarred canvas, telling a tale of Harry with a golden halo to match his ethereal glow. Harry, so soft and so full of love amongst the pillows of the clouds where the pain and corruption of the world cannot taint his innocence and glory. Harry, so beautiful and so good with every star in the universe shining in broad daylight just for him. Everything good, everything lovely all belonged in the palm of Harry's hand. That's what Louis painted.  
"I'm an angel?," Harry worded it as a question, line forming between his eyebrows as he gazed down at Louis's work.  
"Always, baby," Louis said, hands and arms streaked with paint of all heavenly hues: gold, white, silver, and light. Somehow, from the bursting seams that held together his broken pieces, light reached out to touch each corner of the room. The barren walls with the faded white paint peeling off at the edges in strips looked brighter as Louis continued to be reborn over and over again in time with the steady beat of the rain coming in through the leak in the corner of the room and dripping into the blue bucket that was already half full.  
"You're my Heaven," Harry said, reaching out with both hands to lace their fingers together as he climbed into Louis's lap. "Too bad we're going to Hell."  
"Too bad," Louis agreed and tipped his head back so that Harry would kiss him. His wish was granted as Harry closed the space between them, disentangling one hand from Louis's to lace through the smaller man's feathery hair. Louis moaned into his mouth as Harry used his other hand to palm him through his trackies. "Too good for Hell, too bad for Heaven," he said, grinding his hips into the touch and making Harry giggle. "What will we do with you, baby?"  
"Could fuck me," Harry says and Louis halts his motions and holds his breath.  
"You'd like that?," he asks hesitantly, pulling back to search Harry's eyes for some shade of gray. All he saw was miles of sparkling green.  
"I'd love it," Harry says with a nod and he has the most earnest expression that Louis almost feels like he's more high off his love than the drug that has occupied his veins. "I love you."  
"I love you too," Louis says and he means it. He loves Harry. He loves him when he's smiling and he loves him when he's not. He loves him when he's sobbing so hard that the walls quake and when he claws at his skin to peel back the filthy layer and paints pictures with his blood. Louis never loved the color red until Harry taught him crimes of passion. He yearns to feel in deep shades of red, the hue of insatiable desire. "So beautiful, love," Louis mumbles against his skin where he presses kisses to the heads of the swallows upon his collarbones.  
"You're beautiful," Harry breathes at the contact. They're crawling back towards the mattress agonizingly slow, but Louis doesn't mind. He would wait forever to taste his sweet boy. "You're the reflection of the sun on the wide open sea."  
"You _are_ the sun, baby," Louis says, capturing his lips in a deep kiss as they reach the mattress. He swings his leg over so that he's straddling Harry's chest and Harry is looking up at him with those wide lust-blown eyes and bright red lips parted in what looks like awe. He reaches up with a gentle hand and brushes a strand of hair out Louis's visage.  
"You look like a song I once heard," Harry tells him and Louis blinks. "You look like a song I fell in love with in a shopping mall and never learned the name of."  
"My name is Louis," he replies and Harry's eyes crinkle at the corners when he grins.  
"Lou-eeeee," Harry drawls out with a giggle and Louis feels himself fall in love for the millionth time. Lady Heroin sings a song about love in his ear and he doesn't know the words but he understands them. He wonders if Harry can hear it too.  
"You look like a poem I once read," Louis informs him with a gasp as Harry pulls his bottoms down just enough so that his cock springs free. He wraps his deft fingers around the base and tugs expertly to make Louis keen.  
"Yeah?," he asks before wrapping his mouth around the tip and flicking his tongue in Louis's slit to make him choke around a breath.  
"Yeah," Louis says breathlessly and Harry takes him all the way down his throat. He chokes on a gasp but then Harry pulls off.  
"Fuck my throat," the filthy words fall from the innocent petals of Harry's lips with ease and Louis feels the heat pooling in his gut.  
"Jesus fuck," he cusses as Harry opens his mouth with his tongue as a landing pad, waiting for Louis to use him. Louis shudders as he slides his cock into Harry's mouth, the wet warmth enveloping him deliciously. His first few thrusts are shallow and gentle, but Harry presses his fingertips into his hip bones to remind him he likes it rough. Who is Louis to argue?  
He snaps his hips forward and back to the rhythm of the fox trot going on in his head as Lady Heroin spins the record _fasterfasterfaster_ and everything is blurry, Harry is made of gold, and they will never die. The two of them will live forever, they will never die.  
Harry presses his tongue against the vein along the underside of his lover's member as he fucks his throat raw. His cock is sliding down the back of Harry's throat but he takes it like a pro, never gagging around his length. Louis throws his head back and moans as stars begin to pop behind his eyes when Harry hollows his cheeks obscenely, tears streaming steadily down his cheeks.  
"So close, gonna come," Louis manages, but then Harry pops off for the second time. Louis whines at the sudden lack of pressure on his need, but Harry is shifting underneath him.  
"Want you to fuck me," he says and his voice is absolutely wrecked. Louis grows impossibly harder at the deep rasp as he knows it was him who did that to the glassy-eyed angel. "Wanna feel you come inside me." Louis moans at that, nodding feverishly as he presses a needy kiss to his lips. The kiss is sloppy, made up of all tongues and clashing teeth, but it is beautiful. Everything that basks in the angel's hazy glow is beautiful. Everything is beautiful and they will never die.  
He pulls away from Harry but their lips are still connected by a string of saliva that is broken when he tugs his shirt over his head and tosses it to the side. Everything is beautiful and they will never die. He weaves a chain of kisses down the bony frame until he's sat on his hunches between Harry's legs. Everything is beautiful and they will never die.  
"You look like a movie I once saw," Louis says as his index finger circles Harry's hole. The boy beneath him forces a shaky breath into his lungs.  
"Yeah?," he asks and Louis nods as he presses inside. Harry watches the ceiling open up to show him the stars and he doesn't mind being stuck on Earth for the first time since he was a younger version of himself with big hopes and bigger dreams on his way to London to find a path to make them a reality. Instead, he met a boy who was torn at the seams and ripped himself apart trying to stitch the other back together. He felt warm. He felt safe when Louis touched him. He felt sick because Louis only touched him when he needed him to pose. He ignored the sad eyes that looked back at him from the mirror and the weepy voicemails his mother stopped leaving him a long time ago. He blocked it out with the blue of Louis's eyes and the sound of love pounding in his head. Lady Heroin was liquid love, bottled warmth that swept his cold sadness out into the arms of the ocean. He always hoped that when the despair came back to him when he awoke that maybe just one piece would be buried deep within the waves and neglect to return. It seemed, however, that with every trip to sea, a new reason to drown came back to him to add to the extensive list in grains of sand and sharp edges of seashells that cut him open and filled his lungs with brine.  
For right now, he was weightless. He was flying, he was an angel. Louis loved him, even if just for now. He pretended that this would last forever, for if he allowed the truth to penetrate the fortress he had built by the hand of Lady Heroin, he would lose his only escape. He blocked it all out. Everything was beautiful and they would never die.  
Louis slipped another finger inside, twisting and curling until he found the sweet spot that made Harry cry out in the most beautiful chord.  
"M'ready, please Lou, fuck me," Harry begged and Louis felt his stomach coil at the effect just his fingers had on the boy.  
"Eager, are we?," he teased as he withdrew his fingers. His cock was still slick with Harry's spit as he shucked his pants the rest of the way down and lined up with his fluttering pink hole. He eased in slowly, biting back a scream as he was swallowed by Harry's heat inch by glorious inch. When he bottomed out, completely enveloped by his love, he remained completely still for a few moments to allow Harry to accommodate to the stretch. He looked down at the boy with fishbowls for eyes and a mouth tied into a tight little 'o'. "Ready, baby?," he said through his teeth, firecrackers waiting to blow in his mouth. Harry nodded wordlessly, staring at something far beyond Louis, far beyond this universe. In slow deep thrusts, Louis pulled out then slid right back in, motions fluid like the electricity in his veins.  
"Harder," Harry moaned as Louis offered him tender movements. "Rip me open, tear me apart, I want to fucking _feel_ you when you're not around." The desperate words made Louis's eyes roll back in his head. Suddenly, he was pulling all the way out and slamming back in as hard as his body would allow. Harry was screaming, begging for it as Louis nailed his prostate with every impossibly deep thrust.  
Harry began to cry, glitter flowing steadily down his cheeks and into the pools of his sunken collarbones. He was once very muscular, but now was a shell of the Greek god he used to be, just a sad outline in a coloring book with no child to bring him to life. However, his sharp lines were deepened so that the shadows hid more from the eye, hid the cracks and crevices of wear and tear in the boy's hand-painted skin. Louis loved him and the tiny pools of eternal life that grew as the rivers flowed down his cheeks and into the bay of his clavicle.  
"So beautiful, so good for me," Louis breathed, releasing one death grip on Harry's hip to lace his fingers through the much longer ones above the boy's head. Finger shaped bruises were left in his wake, sure to turn purple with time. Harry wanted to feel him when he wasn't around. Everything was beautiful and they would never die.  
"M'so close, Lou, fuck," Harry cried out, tears flowing in infinite shades of gold as they painted his skin like a canvas. Louis wished that he was a photographer rather than a painter so that he could accurately capture such a moment. He reached down with the hand that was not intertwined with Louis's to tug at his neglected cock but his hand was quickly knocked out of the way as the vice-like grip was released on his other hip. "Louis, please! I _need_ to come, _please_ let me come!," Harry sobbed as Louis pounded into him mercilessly.  
"Untouched," Louis grunted, "want you to come untouched, taste the stars."  
"Louis, I-"  
"You can do it, baby, I know you can," Louis coaxed him. Harry stopped speaking, the only sounds leaving his mouth being his loud wails of pleasure mixed with the sobs of desperation that tore through his body like ripples of an earthquake beneath their feet. Closer, closer, until finally, his breath caught in his throat and his eyes widened so he resembled a deer in headlights.  
"Come for me," Louis breathed and that's all the encouragement Harry needed before he was shooting across his stomach in bright white streaks. Harry should have been the painter, because every time he comes, a modern masterpiece is born. As Harry came with a deafening cry of Louis's name, his tightening heat pulled Louis over the edge with him. Filling up the boy with his seed, explosions of light popped behind his eyes, the song of love spinning endlessly on the needle of the record player that his mistress plays on loop. It's the same song over and over, ' _I love you, I miss you, I'm sorry_ ' on constant replay through his days and louder through his nights. All he can hear is HarryHarryHarry in the place of all the love, but it all carries the same message: home. Home is not a place but a feeling of safety. Love makes you feel secure. Harry is love, Harry is his home.  
He is enveloped in the golden haze, long arms curling around him and holding him closer than his skin stretched across his bones. Lanky legs tangle with his like a story told from two perspectives, different yet one. In these glorious moments of afterglow, they are one. Louis glows because he is an extension of Harry, and Harry is always on fire.  
"You look like a dream I once had," Harry says into his hair. Louis cranes his neck up so that their eyes can ballroom dance to the synced beat of their hearts.  
"Do I?," he asks, tracing absent-minded patterns into the pale skin of the angel's chest.  
"You do," he confirms in his deep voice. It feels like velvet as it wraps around Louis and he is swaddled up in the blanket of the warm sound. He's in love with Harry, he's in love with his voice, and he's in love with the sparks he breathes into his lungs that not even Lady Heroin can provide. "I love you."  
"You _are_ love," Louis says, pressing their lips together gently as the record continues to spin; ' _I love you, I miss you, I'm sorry_.' Everything is beautiful and they will never die.

**Author's Note:**

> helloooooo!! i hope you liked this massively twisted fic. what's wrong with me??? idk. anywho, this is the first work i've ever published with smut so !!! hope i didn't fuck that up too bad, yikes! thank you so much for reading. :)  
> also !!! if you feel like chatting or wanna harass me for making you upset, you can find me on [tumblr](http://www.wellingtwink.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/wellingtwinks/) !!!


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